


Hello Neighbor

by JemTheKingOfSass, maybeillride



Category: Free!
Genre: ... and that's about it :), Also: Haru may be hazardous to Sousuke's health, Alternate Universe, Correction: Haru for damn-sure is, Farce, Fluff, M/M, POV Alternating, Poor Sousuke can't catch a break, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JemTheKingOfSass/pseuds/JemTheKingOfSass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: In which we take the prompt,"Embarrassing package that character A ordered accidentally gets delivered to character B's house au," and try to imagine how Sousuke and Haru might handle things. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. so let it be what it'll be

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [Package Delivered by Mistake](https://twitter.com/au_idea_bot/status/1043104872675999744)
> 
> Mel: This is the most fun I have ever had writing anything! We bounced chapters back and forth, so neither of us knew what was coming until either of us got the next installment; so I focused solely on everyone's favorite grump and never had any idea what Haru was thinking. I hope SH fans enjoy this as much as we enjoyed bringing it to life!
> 
> Teresa: I fully agree. One reckless fool w/o a plan writing a fic? A hot mess. TWO reckless fools w/o a plan? ... still a hot mess but it was worth it. I honestly think even with all canon Haru has to keep him busy, he's destined to make Sousuke's life that extra flavor of hell ;). Hope you enjoy and thanks!

 

* * *

 

Sousuke pulls into the underground spot designated for his apartment, aptly numbered 3C, which happens to match the characters on the door to his 1LDR. He hadn’t been overly particular in his apartment searching needs, but he knew he wanted one with covered parking, a real luxury in his price range. It is worth every yen when the Tokyo weather turns snowy and windy in the middle of January. Usually Japan’s winter is not overly harsh, but this year is uncharacteristically frigid, and Sousuke would rather avoid battling the elements at all costs. There are only forty parking spots under the hundred-plus apartments in his building, and he snagged the only one available at the time of his lease signing. He might have made a deal with the devil involving a sacrificed body part if he'd had to, but fortunately it hadn’t come to that.

The walk from the athletic building at Shimogami University to his car in the exposed, above ground parking lot is more than enough time to be outside. He doesn’t particularly crave the bracing cold after a long work day assisting athletes on their quest for collegiate greatness. Earlier, shivering and unenthusiastic, he had briefly debated sleeping in his office overnight, but figured the other athletic trainer who shared the space might object. So he hoofed it to his car, slogging through slush on the ground, and hunching his shoulders to ward off the stiff breeze, one that no thickness of parka seems capable of withstanding. 

As Sousuke depresses the button on his keyfob, hearing the feeble beep of his car door locking, he bursts through the side door into the lobby of his apartment building, a sakura blossom etched into the glass panel. The apartment building’s logo is plastered everywhere he can see, something his best friend comments on any time he comes to visit, always resulting in Sousuke rolling his eyes so hard it gives him a headache. The sakura apartments, as he thinks of them, aren’t particularly close to the university that employs him, but it’s a short walk to Roppongi Station, plus he’s got his car if he needs to get somewhere more quickly than the trains, not that traffic in Tokyo allows for any kind of efficient movement through the streets.

“Yamazaki-san!” The evening front desk clerk calls out to him, waving a slip of paper as she motions towards him. He strides over, pulling off his gloves and unlooping the scarf from around his neck as he does so. 

“Good evening, Fumi,” greets Sousuke. “I’ve told you before, you can call me Sousuke. Please. We see each other every work night.”

Fumi blushes and tilts her head, as she does every time he reminds her to kindly drop the formalities. “Sousuke-san, then. There’s a package for you. It just came this afternoon. Apparently it got damp in transit, so the name and address are blurry, but it looks like the characters for your name and I’m positive that says 3C above our building address.”

Sousuke peers at the smudged mailing label, barely able to discern anything, all the ink bleeding into a cloudy black mess on the white background. He does agree that a 3C is legible, as well as the city of Tokyo and the building’s location in the Minato ward. He can’t identify his name at all, but perhaps the apartment number is good enough. Once he signs for this delivery, it’s all his.

More importantly, he _is_ waiting on a package. Rin’s birthday is in two weeks and last weekend Sousuke had found a gorgeous, embossed diary in an upscale store in Shibuya after Rin complained more than once about his last one being almost full. He had chattered on and on about having to write extra small in the margins to make sure he could jot down his entire stream of consciousness for posterity. Unfortunately, the brick-and-mortar had been sold out of the model in the window display, and of course that exact one was _not_ for sale when Sousuke had politely inquired with his nicest expression plastered on his face. Instead, he was patiently directed towards their website, the retail associate helpfully spinning her computer monitor for him to see, which offers free three-to-five day shipping if the order is placed in store. So he had ordered a scarlet pebbled leather-bound diary with embossed flowers on the cover and shiny gold lining the edges of the paper, and now it seems to have arrived at the end of the estimated shipping window. Sousuke doesn’t care. Rin’s birthday is still far enough away that he can easily put off wrapping it until the night before he mails it. 

Fumi holds down the clipboard with the package receipt list, so Sousuke scrawls his name haphazardly, grabs the box off the desk, and says a hurried goodnight to her. He lightly shakes the package in his hands, contents seeming a little heavy for a diary, as he heads to the elevator. Sousuke sees an out of order sign on one of the two elevators in the bank, and a small crowd of people waiting in front of the functioning one. He scoffs under his breath and alters his course towards the stairwell. 

Three flights, and a box that definitely feels too cumbersome for a diary, later, Sousuke reaches his door, placing the package cautiously on one of the two welcome mats that his unofficial younger sister, Gou, insists he own, one for outside the door and one for inside the door. He wipes his feet automatically and fishes out his keys, before entering the apartment to slip off his shoes and unpeel all his outer layers. He meanders into his bathroom to take a scalding shower, hot enough to burn off the cold that settles deeply in his bones at the start of the season. Somehow, mostly thanks to the growling of his stomach, he manages to drag himself away from the pleasant spray of the water. 

Shaking water out of his hair like a dog as he wraps a fluffy towel around his waist, Sousuke hears his phone ping with a notification. He tugs on his sweats, grabs his cell, and plops himself down at the kotatsu, the extravagant housewarming present from his entire family that he is pretty sure he can no longer live without.

 

_**RinRin:** Hey man! Thinking about you in balmy Australia. I know how much you love winter so here’s my view of dryland training today to warm up your icy soul._

_**Me:** _ image received 19:11

_**Me:** You’re an asshole. Also, do you always dryland on a beach?_

_**RinRin:** You love me ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ _

_**Me:** Maybe I’ll hold your present hostage until the next time you’re in Japan._

_**RinRin:** You wouldn’t dare. I’ll sic Gou on you._

_**Me:** Please. She’d probably encourage me._

_**RinRin:** Fair_

_**RinRin:** Do you already have it?_

_**RinRin:** Pics or it didn’t happen (˘ʃƪ˘)_

 

Sousuke recalls the box sitting abandoned outside his door, but he’s reluctant to get back out from under the warmth of the kotatsu. Grumbling and reminding himself how much he loves Rin, he retrieves it, glad his best friend texted him or he definitely would have left it in the hallway overnight, almost certainly tripping over it tomorrow morning. He snaps a quick picture, wondering if he should take the time to crop and use a filter so he doesn’t get lectured about utilizing his phone’s camera tools for optimum photography. He decides to just leave it.

 

_**Me:**_ image sent 19:19 

_**RinRin:** (´⊙o⊙`；)_

_**RinRin:** It big_

_**Me:**_ image received 19:21 

_**Me:** Is that your thumb? Are you thumbs upping the size of the box?_

_**RinRin:** Ye_

_**RinRin:** I gotta keep running now, later bro ᕕ(╯°□°)ᕗ_

 

Shaking his head, Sousuke considers the box that now sits on the table top in his living room. It’s definitely too heavy for one small book, and even Rin thinks it’s big, despite not knowing what size it’s supposed to be. Assuming it’s just a problem of over-packaging, Sousuke drags himself out from the blanketed warmth for the second time in order to get his utility knife. He slides it cleanly through the tape on the sides and top. He peels back the flaps and sees a packing slip resting on top of what appears to be yards of bubble wrap. 

Sousuke unfolds the packing slip, expecting to see the information of the store he bought the diary at, as well as his own information in the address box. He hones in on the name of the intended recipient, the address similar enough to his to be mistaken on a snow-soaked label. Sousuke grunts and grimaces as he realizes that he now has to deliver this package to the mystery person residing at the intended address, and since he’s not a total asshole, he knows it should be extremely soon, preferably tomorrow. 

Feeling a bit put out, Sousuke decides to be a _little_ bit of an asshole, and starts pulling out the bubble wrap. If he’s taking the time out of his day tomorrow hand delivering a package to some stranger, he figures he deserves to know what the box contains. Sousuke’s conscience rumbles briefly at him, but he assures himself this is totally fair game at this point; it’s not like he’s going to do anything except peek in the box, and then repack everything the way he found it. He lifts the last layer of protective packaging out of the box and peers inside. 

Sousuke blinks and bends down to get a closer look. There is no way he saw that item correctly. “What the fuck? Who orders crap like this?” After a moment of bemused shock, he cautiously removes the item from the box, whipping out his camera to take a picture for Rin as proof this item exists. Eventually, Sousuke puts the package back together, locating his clear mailing tape so he can reseal the edges, making sure the packing slip is left out so he has the correct delivery location. He glares at the box. 

“Seriously, what the fuck?”

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel: At this point, I was also on the edge of my seat to know what on earth was in the package. (ﾟοﾟ人))
> 
> Teresa: ... let's just say we were so entertained trying to come up with Sousuke's Mystery Package, the rest of this story almost didn't happen ;) (also, new canon fact: Rin journals. This is so true i'm shocked we didn't see him hard at it in s3.)


	2. don't make a fuss (and get crazy over you and me)

* * *

 

Haru lets the gentle rocking of the train put him into a doze. The carriage is chilly even in his warmest coat, but his seat is in the sun, and weak as it is it feels like two warm palms cradling his cheeks. He hums to himself and slouches low in his seat.

Before he knows it the announcement for Roppongi Station is blaring into his consciousness, interrupting a really great dream… something about the Serengeti (?). Who knows why; he wasn’t obsessed with _The Lion King_ as a kid. But the gold grass and the low light on the horizon were as clear as if he just got back from safari. And he was some kind of gazelle…? He was just running along, or bounding more like, alone but he knew his fellow gazelle herdmates, or whatever they’re called, weren’t far. 

There was a lion close behind him, he could just catch a look out of the corner of his eye, and it was huge. He had the distinct fourth-wall thought _I should probably be scared at this point_ but for some reason, he was totally, completely chill. He just kept sort of flying along and his hooves hardly touched the ground. It was more like a polite acknowledgement of gravity than anything else.

Haru hauls himself up and drags himself out with the rest of the morning commuters before the doors can slam shut on his sleep deprived ass. There’s the start of a migraine hovering just behind his left eye, threatening like an out of season thunderstorm. The office workers around him peel off with purpose, one by one, while he shuffles the mercifully short few blocks to his building, shivering. 

He forces himself to detour to the front desk, as much as his now-throbbing head and shivering body are begging him to go directly to the elevator, to his apartment, and to his bed, without even a stop for a bath. The day clerk is on the phone, but one glance in Haru’s direction and he immediately hangs up without even a word to whoever was on the other line.

“Nanase-san, are you alright?” the tall man asks, frowning in concern. Haru frowns back.

“I’m fine, Makoto. Just have a headache. Also, stop calling me Nanase-san. Please.”

Makoto apologizes, ritually. They’ve had the same exchange God-knows how many times since the day Haru moved in. In the middle of some very cordial chit-chat with the bizarrely-friendly guy, Haru had interrupted him to insist on first names. Specifically, he heard himself saying “Nanase-san is my dad. Call me Haru” and promptly swore he would never make another joke to this man again. Thankfully, Makoto turned out to be a prolific talker, and when he again surprised himself by asking if Makoto would like to play video games sometime, he suddenly had a legitimate friend. And yet, Makoto persists with the last name thing like it’s some kink of his.

“I think there’s some aspirin here, would that help?” Makoto asks, pawing in a drawer. Haru shakes his head impatiently, setting off new firebursts of pain.

“No, I just have to sleep,” he tries to reasonably explain. Makoto looks even more sorry for him if possible and Haru leaps back in before Makoto can sympathize with him, kindly as he is.

“Did that package come for me yet?”

 _Bingo._ Makoto taps his pursed lips thoughtfully. “You know, I’m not sure. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!” He hurries into the back room and Haru almost laughs at the thought of movement that efficient. At this point, the raised counter is the only thing reliably holding him up.

It takes Makoto a couple of minutes to reappear, with a little steaming paper cup in hand but - Haru’s mood drops another notch - no box. 

“So sorry, Haru! I looked all over, too. Maybe there was some mixup? Who’s it from?” He hands the cup to Haru who takes it thoughtlessly. “Drink this! It’s Tension Tamer. The box says it’s a mild anti-inflammatory…? Which is weird ‘cause I think it's just chamomile, but hey, it can’t hurt, right? Hold on, I’ll go get it…” His voice fades and Haru bolts for the elevator. Somehow, the car is waiting for him. As he darts in and slams "8" he hopes Makoto will understand, but his head is so bad all he can do is leave a mental note to make it up to him. Later.

Somehow, again, the eighth floor is empty when he gets there and all he has to worry about is negotiating his key in the lock without spilling boiling tea all over himself. He manages to dump his coat in the genkan, and that’s the last thing he’s aware of for a while.

An unknowable time later, he’s floating in the deepest sensory-deprivation-tank darkness of dreamlessness, when his apartment explodes.

Or, it _sounds_ like it does, and his body sure is convinced, yanking his brain out of nothingness so fast he can almost feel it ricochet against his skull. He flinches reflexively and that’s how Makoto’s cup of medicinal tea flies off the nightstand. The explosions resolve into a heavy, impatient knock - no, a hammer - on his door. He lies corpse still, heart racing, but they’re alarmingly persistent. 

Haru stumbles out of bed, leaving tea footprints all the way to the door, and throws it open. 

There’s a big guy - huge, to his sleep-addled brain - standing there on his threshold, his fist in the air like Haru caught him totally by surprise. He has a dumbfounded look on his face to match. 

“What,” Haru growls. His throat feels like tree bark. Plus, now that he has confirmed the hallway isn’t on fire and this random dude doesn’t have a gun to his head, there is no Earthly reason he’s out of bed.

“Hey,” the guy says, with a casual little head flick. “Nanase Haruka?”

Haru can’t respond for a second. It’s all he can do to manage a few simple tasks: remain standing stoically in the doorway and not slam it the hell shut. And turn around, and drink about a liter of water… or maybe two. Then, get under the duvet and forget this guy ever happened.

Now the guy is frowning. Together with his height, and build, which is extremely, almost obnoxiously ripped, it gives him an almost threatening look. The look of a bully. Who, is Haru’s neighbor, apparently. Fantastic.

“This is 8C, right?” He leans close to peer at the number next to Haru’s head and Haru snaps.

“I was sleeping.”

The guy pulls back quick out of Haru’s space like it’s superheated, and seems to take in Haru’s undoubtedly disheveled and drool-stained appearance for the first time. He has the nerve to smirk. 

“I see. Sorry about that, I thought noon would be plenty safe to come by, even if it is Saturday.”

Haru gathers all the cold of the cosmos to inject into his voice for his guest. “I work nights.”

The way his face suddenly falls should be funny, but Haru’s too tired. “Oh, shit. Let’s… can we start over?” He crouches down to the side, out of view, and when he comes back up Haru is blinking at a magical thing: a lumpy, sort of forlorn looking water-stained package, hand-lettered address blurred into oblivion, and his heart leaps.

“My package,” he finds himself saying like it’s Christmas and he’s nine or some shit, but he couldn’t care less. He grabs the still-mystery man by the wrist and pulls him and his package insistently inside. Thankfully, he keeps the place hermit-clean so there are no piles of underwear to kick aside. 

He leaves the guy at his little dining table while he goes to fill his electric kettle. WIth the crisis, if not averted, but at least improved, he may as well attempt humanity. “Tea?” 

“Yeah, actually,” comes from the other room. Haru clicks the On button and rejoins him. 

It’s weird, having this guy drop out of nowhere and crash-land in his place. He makes it look even smaller. He has his back turned, hands on his hips, staring at Haru’s figure collection. Dracula, Frankenstein’s monster, the Mummy (the classic, not the compromised 90s reboot version), alongside Pinhead, the xenomorph from Alien, Cthulhu the ancient one, Linda Blair (complete with demonically-rotated head)... the ceramic meticulously painted with disturbing realism, staring down from their places along Haru’s homemade wall shelves… they make an impression, Haru knows. The first time Makoto came up he almost had a heart attack, which was how Haru learned they wouldn’t be having a horror movie marathon anytime soon. 

“...well. These are… different,” the guy is saying, but Haru barely notices. This is it, the monster he’s been waiting for: the immortal Creature from the Black Lagoon. Half-man, half-fish, all badass. He only hopes he’s a good enough painter to do it justice.

He rips into the box easily, then the layers of bubble wrap protecting his treasure. The guy pipes up again, saying “Easy!” in alarm, sliding his hands under his Creature like Haru is in danger of dropping it. As if he could be so careless. As if…

Haru pulls the last plastic sheet away, and can only blink down at the thing in his hands.

“So you’re… into the Little Mermaid, huh?” the guy finally says. “That’s cool. Well, to be honest I’m a little surprised, given what else you’re into. Freaky stuff, man. But hey, to each his own, right?”

Ariel stares up at him with blank bisque eyes and an insipid smile. The guy, still nameless, laughs awkwardly. Distantly, the kettle begins to wail.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teresa: For those of you kind enough to still be with us, you may notice a... severe drop in the adherence to canon this chapter, lol. Apparently I can't write these guys without screwing with their lives. However, I kinda like how u can change the details about the Frees but some core facts (Makoto will kill you with kindness, Haru is a crafty fetishist) remain the same :D
> 
> Mel: I am obsessed with how this chapter turned into the two of them awkwardly frowning at each other at one point. Very on brand. And Ariel. I spit out my kombucha when I finally got wind of the package contents.


	3. not like we have a date with destiny

* * *

 

Sousuke frowns as the seconds tick by with no response from this guy who hoards nightmare fuel and, apparently, Disney characters. He briefly wonders if Ariel is about to be subject to some sort of ancient ritual; perhaps a spot in the center of a poorly drawn chalk pentagram is in her future. Poor unfortunate soul indeed.

“So... I’m gonna go,” mumbles Sousuke, jerking his thumb in the direction of the door. “You’ve got… that, like you ordered, and we’re done here.” He barely has one foot planted on the floor to pivot away from this awkward scene, when a hand shoots out and clamps onto his forearm.

“Wait.” Nanase chokes on one word as though someone is reaching into his throat and forcibly dragging it out, which might be because of his interrupted sleep, or it might be something entirely different. Sousuke shouldn’t care, he has no business dwelling on the intricacies of anyone's mind except his own. “This isn’t right.”

Sousuke shrugs but stays put. “Yeah well, she’s part of your world now, which honestly terrifies me a little bit on her behalf.”

“Should I send her back?” 

At this simple query, which isn’t odd except for the fact that he still has no idea who Nanase really is or what his dilemma is with Ariel, Sousuke makes a decision that he prays to Pinhead won’t come back to bite him in the ass. He extends a hand towards the occupant of 8C. “If we’re going to have an actual conversation I might as well introduce myself. I’m Yamazaki Sousuke, 3C. Why would you send her back?”

Nanase glares down at the proffered hand with disdain and, after an extended silence and a single sharp nod to himself, looks back up at Sousuke. “Call me Haru. And I didn’t order Ariel.”

“You didn’t?”

Haru scowls at Sousuke, doubts regarding his intelligence clear on his unfairly pretty face. “I ordered the immortal Creature from the Black Lagoon. He’s going to be green, somewhere between olive and moss if I mix properly, and doesn’t have a purple shell bikini-”

Sousuke throws up a hand. “Nanase, I’m gonna stop you right there. I don’t know what the creature from the Black Lagoon is and I am totally fine living out the remainder of my days in ignorance.”

“ _Immortal_ Creature and it’s Haru.” If Sousuke didn’t know better, he would think Haru is pouting at being rudely halted from expounding on what is supposed to be the newest addition to his collection. “And if I was ordering a mermaid, I want one styled after the original fairy tale, not the Disney movie. So should I send her back?”

“Well that’s up to you, I guess. I bet if you go online you can find the return policy pretty easily, then it’s just a matter of repackaging it, printing a mailing label, and taking it to the Post.” Sousuke runs a hand through his hair, hoping he’s not insulting Haru by providing no useful information; everyone knows how to return items after they have been purchased online. “I suppose if it’s a local store you could always return it in-person. That will save you some money on shipping but you’ll pay in your time. Really, it’s up to you.”

With every word Sousuke speaks, Haru’s eyebrows pinch together and his shoulders sag in defeat, like a coworker has eaten the prized leftovers that he’d clearly labeled before placing them in the staff refrigerator on a Monday morning. Not that anything so obnoxious has ever happened to Sousuke, but he can imagine the face he’d be making if someone pilfered his steak frites and Caesar salad when he’d been craving the meal’s second coming since Saturday night.

“What is it?”

“You’re telling me I have to go to the Post or to a store in Piss Alley?”

Sousuke snorts out a laugh at the incredulity painted on Haru’s face, which is a nice break from the annoyed expression he’s been wearing since opening the package. “I think it’s called Memory Lane officially. And it’s not like it’s _that_ far away. Shinjuku is less than half an hour from here.”

Clearly irritated again, Haru cocks his head. “Then _you_ go there.”

“Wait, what? How is this now my problem?” Sousuke cannot believe what he’s hearing, especially after he has already graciously taken his Saturday afternoon to personally deliver this stupid package to this ungrateful hoarder. Why is he still standing around this apartment offering free, albeit worthless, advice to this stranger who happens to live in the same building as him? He doesn’t need this; it’s been a long week of whining athletes, meddling office mates, and endless bureaucratic nonsense that defines most of his professional life. A series of blaring alerts from his phone derails the petty argument about to escape his mouth, which is probably for the best.

 

_**RinRin:** ఠ_ఠ_

_**RinRin:** Why am I looking at the Little Mermaid?_

_**RinRin:** Did you get that for Kisumi?_

_**RinRin:** You know his birthday isn’t for months, right?_

_**RinRin:** Wait, so that huge box isn’t my present? (⊙︿⊙✿)_

_**RinRin:** You wound me, Sousuke. Deeply._

_**Me:** jfc Rin _

_**Me:** Why would this be for Kisumi?_

_**RinRin:** WOW_

_**RinRin:** You’ve forgotten about his crazy Disney obsession? He’s been collecting figurines for fucking ever._

_**Me:** I’m sighing, Rin, can you hear it all the way down under? I’ve got a situation right now with a weird agoraphobic neighbor, I’ll talk to you later. _

 

Sousuke tucks his phone into his back pocket and glances up to see Haru shooting icy blue daggers at him. “Are you finished?”

“With my personal conversation on my own time? Yep, I’m done.” Sousuke can glare too. He puts on his most intimidating expression and crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest, showing off his hard-earned muscular arms. At moments like these, every early morning weight-lifting session is totally worth it. Haru’s face doesn’t budge, in fact, the temperature in the entire apartment drops as he crosses his own arms. Sousuke takes a moment to appreciate the lean lines of his body, arms toned and likely stronger than they appear. He realizes he’s staring and he snaps his eyes back up to Haru’s, where a sardonic eyebrow is arched.

“If you’re so annoyed at being here, I’m sure you can find the door.” 

“I’m not annoyed, I’m-”

Haru’s eyes glint with something Sousuke can’t quite pinpoint, but if he had to guess he’d say it’s amusement. “You’re what?”

Sousuke stiffens, second-guessing what he is tempted to say. Once he offers, there’s no going back, and he has absolutely no idea why the thought occurs to him in the first place. This person in front of him is a grown man, perhaps with questionable taste, but still perfectly capable of figuring out a way to correct this error. Haru doesn’t need his help, and quite frankly, probably doesn’t even want it. He swallows down his doubt and self-respect before opening his mouth. “We can head down to the store together if you want. I’m off the rest of today and all day tomorrow.”

Haru raises his eyebrows and says nothing. _Nothing._ This should bother Sousuke and completely turn him off, encouraging him to immediately renege on the offer that makes him feel as though he’s stripped bare under the weight of Haru’s assessing gaze. His hands curl into fists where they are tucked out of sight against his body, fingernails cutting into his palms as he waits for the humiliation guillotine to behead his pride. 

It’s been a long week and he _really doesn’t need this_.

Sousuke is already mentally slinking out the door towards the elevator, anticipating a last-minute yet necessary ass-kicking session in the building’s state-of-the-art exercise room, when Haru picks up the discarded invoice and strolls over to his laptop, flips open the lid, and perches on a cushioned stool. He squints at the paper in his hand, furiously typing and squishing up his face in concentration in a way that Sousuke absolutely does not find adorable. He clicks and scrolls, humming under his breath when he notices something, and then promptly shuts his laptop again, spinning on the stool to face Sousuke.

“How Do You Figure? is open until 9:00 tonight. We’ll go after I finish my nap. I’ll come down to your apartment. There are plenty of places to eat in Piss Alley, so we should get dinner first.” Haru begins walking towards the door, Sousuke automatically following. When Haru looks pointedly down at Sousuke’s shoes, he immediately shoves his feet into them, and when Haru opens the door and waits, Sousuke steps over the threshold without a moment’s hesitation.

“Okay then, Haru. I guess I’ll see you later? If we sneak out a fire exit I think we can avoid the inquisition and radiant cheer from Makoto.”

“It’s a date.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel: How Do You Figure? is a name that a friend came up with and kindly offered to let me use. Thank you, Kitty!
> 
> Teresa: give her a coauthor credit!!
> 
> Also, not that anyone needs to know my self indulgent thoughts but starting with this chapter, I basically howled laughing at pretty much everything Sousuke says. Or thinks. Or does, really. I hope you enjoy reading him as much :D


	4. it's just a little crush

* * *

 

Haru is grudgingly surprised by a pleasant little cluster of happenings when he reaches 3C. First, Sousuke’s so prompt answering the door, Haru’s barely able to get two raps out when it’s suddenly flying open. Normally, Haru couldn’t care less how long it takes someone to answer their door, but he woke up from part two of his nap roaringly hungry, bordering on hangry. It’s a relief to know his shopping partner is apparently just as eager to get the show on the road.

Haru’s distracted from his dinner-finding mission by two more unexpectedly nice observations. Sousuke stands there before him, framed in a perfectly-balanced way, reaching up to grab the top of the door jamb and leaving both of his bare forearms flexed with just the right amount of potential energy. For the first time Haru can recall since moving in, he finds himself appreciating the overbright lighting in the hallway. It’s just the thing to help him realize Sousuke’s eyes are the precise color of the fuzzy teal pullover he’s wearing, too soft and decadent to be anything but cashmere.

Then his stomach rumbles, as he catches a whiff of something delicious inside the apartment. 

Sousuke laughs in an irritating big-brother tone. “Well, somebody’s hungry.”

Haru’s stomach makes an executive decision to fuck propriety. He shoves the lumpy and ill-fated shipping box into Sousuke’s chest and stalks inside, following the gorgeous fragrance. 

“Hey! Uh, welcome in?”

Sousuke catches up to him in the tiny kitchen, where he’s staring skeptically at a plate on the counter. Nestled on a paper towel are eight fat spring rolls, so fresh out of Sousuke’s little deep fryer they’re lightly steaming. Haru’s mouth is instantly, embarrassingly full of water. 

“Yeah, I had some time after we split up and got this bizarre craving for harumaki. None of the takeout places make ‘em right, either.” He nudges the plate at Haru like a giant black labrador asking to play fetch.

Haru gingerly takes one and cracks it open. The steam inside makes him hum. The first bite drags an inadvertent moan out of him. He isn’t sure if it’s the hunger or what, but it’s the best spring roll Haru thinks he’s ever experienced. Sousuke is smirking as he crunches into his own roll, leaning back against the counter next to Haru. Haru finds himself oddly not minding the total lack of a plate or a napkin or chopsticks or hell, even a flat surface. It’s good street food and bonus, he isn’t freezing.

“...you had a bizarre craving for HARUmaki?” It’s Haru’s turn to slip on a well earned smirk, even if it was certifiably nice of this person he hardly knows to treat him to some (excellent) home cooking.

Sousuke shrugs nonchalantly. “The human brain is a funny thing, isn’t it? I don’t ask questions. I just go along for the ride.” He locks (pretty) eyes with Haru and finishes his roll in one massively oversized bite. Haru’s eyes open wide as Sousuke’s slam shut in watery pain, and in an instant he darts behind the big guy to hammer on his even bigger back.

“Cough,” Haru commands, and Sousuke manages a wheezy flaky-sounding inhale. This progresses to a pained coughing fit. Haru fumbles around and finally is able to get him a coffee mug filled with water, which he gulps down like he just staggered out of the desert. Haru waits patiently.

The cocky expression is nowhere to be found when Sousuke finishes. “Ughhh. Well. I’m really glad I didn’t choke to death. Wouldn’t that be a great story you could tell all your friends?” He knocks a shoulder into Haru’s. “How’d you know what to do anyway? I was all set for you to grab me and give me the Heimlich like your life depended on it.”

Haru tuts. “We get CPR and first-aid certification at the warehouse. They have us running around so much filling orders all night we get to be each other’s first responder when something happens.”

Sousuke blinks down at him. “Damn. What kind of injuries are we talking about…”

“Decapitations.” Haru puts a thoughtful finger to his chin. “Bleedouts. Compound fractures. One guy fell into a vat of radioactive acid. We couldn’t do much for him.”

He’s pleased when Sousuke’s granite face finally cracks open, into a grin as wide as a watermelon wedge. He smacks Haru’s shoulder again but this time uses a loose fist, which is a relief as even that has Haru wincing.

“God. You’re a real deal comics nerd. So, tell me, if you could choose, would you be a hero or a villain?”

Haru scoffs with disdain. “False choice. No hero is 100% good, just like no villain is 100% bad. At least not in any of the stories that matter.”

Sousuke has adopted his fake-thoughtful finger-to-the-chin, which makes Haru want to hit him but he maturely controls himself. “Ah, ah, very interesting. Tell me more. So, say, Superman isn’t 100% good? _Superman??_ ”

Haru decides, then and there, if they’re _going there_ , he isn’t doing it standing here in Sousuke’s kitchen like he’s waiting for a bus. He grabs the plate off the counter, turns, and marches towards the living room he knows well from his own unit. However, instead of a kotatsu and… not much else, Sousuke has a handsome-looking kotatsu _and_ a lush fern in a pot in the corner _and_ a big overstuffed couch with a giant stuffed koala slumped on it, for some reason. And on the wall over that…

Haru loses track of himself as he stands, gazing like he’s witnessing a perfect double rainbow, enchanted by a sight so beautiful he can only stare. Sousuke pulls up next to him after some unknown time, taking the plate from his hands and putting an open beer bottle there instead. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long swallow like the very sight of all that perfect water is enough to make him thirsty.

Sousuke takes a swallow of his own beer before gesturing at the photo with the bottle. The _huge_ , hyperreal, crystal-clear photo of an indoor swimming pool so vast and stately, it hardly seems real. Graceful arches stretch above, punctuated by a row of world flags.

“Some facility, right? My best buddy Rin surprised me with it for my birthday last year. He even took the photo himself, which is pretty cool.” Judging from the soft crinkle around his eyes as he gazes fondly at the gift, Haru surmises that “pretty cool” is a deep understatement of this guy’s feelings toward his friend.

“Sydney?” he asks, getting a surprised look back. “What a great year for swimming. Thorpe. Phelps! Good thing the women’s team were there to save Japan.”

“You’re a swim buff?” Sousuke’s eyes are brighter than makes sense, given the low-bordering-on-dim lighting from the sole lamp in the room. He turns to Haru and leans in, and before Haru knows it he’s getting an enthusiastic, friendly bro-type hug, Sousuke patting his back firmly like he’s thanking him for the lifesaving earlier. Haru tries to get an arm up and around but Sousuke has trapped him, so he waits patiently until he’s finally free. 

Sousuke clinks their bottles together and they toast to swimming, apparently. His Adam’s apple is more sinuous than it has a right to be as he tips the bottle up and finishes it. 

“You know, I’m a trainer, over at Shimogami U. Ugh, college athletes... for a bunch of guys who pretty much have it easy they sure enjoy bitching. Anyway.” He gives Haru a head-to-toe appraisal that’s a funny blend of Sousuke making some kind of professional point and Sousuke engaging in a casual come-on. Haru finds himself not particularly minding, as he makes his own little show of finishing his beer.

“So. You work as a trainer long enough, you start seeing swimmers everywhere you look. It’s like, hmmm, when you get a car and then all you see on the road is your car. Forget it. Dumb analogy. Point being.” He holds up a finger and suddenly hurries out of the room. Haru has just started to wonder if he’s supposed to be concerned when Sousuke hurries back in, this time holding two fresh bottles of beer. 

Haru sits on the couch, decisively. If Sousuke is supplying the beer and if he’s expecting Haru to supply the sparkling conversation, a comfy couch is happening. He doubles down by grabbing the marshmallow-like koala and hugging it. The room and the food and the beer - and the company - is so warm, and cozy, and Haru’s enjoying it all. There’s no need to rush. 

Sousuke plops down next to him, passing out their next round. His eyes crinkle at Haru.

“I was _going_ to say, my swim trainer senses were tingling like crazy when I saw you today. Tell me. Freestyle’s your stroke, isn’t it.”

Haru rolls his eyes. “Give the man a koala bear,” he announces, reaching up with the squishy stuffed thing with every intention of bopping Sousuke on the head. The koala overbalances and cartwheels over the edge of the couch, leaving Haru to drop his arm behind Sousuke’s shoulders instead. 

Haru’s finds his average length arm is challenged to fit around Sousuke’s far from average width shoulders. He discovers Sousuke’s sweater is as obscenely soft as it looks. He is surprised Sousuke is NOT doused in some unnecessary cologne like a walking men’s magazine, and instead just smells… clean. He finds himself enjoying the simple pleasure of fitting together, of tagging along on the inhale and exhale of someone else. 

Sousuke’s voice when he finally bothers to say something is definitely amused, but Haru reads the hope there too, spiked through like red paint on a canvas.

“Hello, neighbor…”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel: Nanasassy slays.
> 
> Teresa: And I give Sousuke, if not mad props for trying to set up his date scenario here, at the very least kudos :)


	5. not like I faint every time we touch

* * *

 

Sousuke scoffs in his own head, fully aware that is one of the dumbest things he could have just uttered. Was he trying to be romantic? Suave? Flirty? It doesn’t matter exactly which word is correct, he completely fails at all definitions of words that don’t involve shoving his overly large foot into his extremely dry mouth. He sighs and glances over at Haru. Despite his own bumbling idiocy, the other man still has his arm securely around his shoulders, giving Sousuke the conflicting urges to sew his mouth shut, flee the couch, and nuzzle his head against Haru’s collarbone to see if it is as sharp as it looks, peeking out from under his wide-neck shirt. 

Sousuke gulps with difficulty, suddenly incredibly thirsty, praying that he doesn’t almost asphyxiate _again_. He’s not entirely sure he can live down the experience a second time in one day. He leans forward, hands braced against his thighs, frozen in indecision in his own living room, on his own couch, in a twisted version of personal hell. 

“What are you doing?” Haru’s clear voice cuts through Sousuke’s mental self-flagellation. He realizes Haru’s hand still awkwardly clasps his shoulder, the rest of his arm suspended in the air, which explains the chill on his back despite his warm clothing.

Sousuke peers over at Haru, blue eyes glowering, a slight furrow between his brows. “Uhh, I need a drink.” He closes his eyes in defeat, but not before catching Haru’s gaze flick over to his half full beer bottle on the kotatsu. None of the experts ever explain that in a fight or flight situation, the undisclosed third option is to freeze like a frightened rabbit. All muscles locked, except for the one that currently has his blood pressure skyrocketing, Sousuke feels sweat bead up along his hairline. “I shouldn’t have worn this top, I’m roasting over here.”

Haru hums. “You can take your sweater off.”

Sousuke blinks in confusion and Haru’s hand trails from his shoulder down to the hem of his sweater. “Uhhh.”

“Do you want help?” Haru inquires with what appears to be no judgement, like he’s not questioning the capabilities of a grown-ass man who struggles to tend to his own basic needs such as dressing, swallowing, and moving off this damn couch. 

“No, I can do it,” mumbles Sousuke, slapping Haru’s hand away, missing it as soon as it’s gone from his waist. He whips the sweater off, tugging it impatiently over his head where it mercifully only gets stuck for a few seconds, before coming free. Now he’s holding his sweater and Haru is no longer holding _him_. He scowls down at the floor, a small part of him wishing the ground would open up and swallow him, except then he would be in 2C, and he is not in the mood to deal with the angry older woman who chastises him at the communal mailbox for his heavy footfalls.

A phone pings with an alert and Sousuke grabs for his device like a lifeline, though he doesn’t feel like dealing with an athlete crisis right now, either of the professional or best friend kind. He doesn’t feel like dealing with much of anything except somehow forcing himself off this Bermuda triangle couch and creating space between him and Haru, like the five floors that typically separate them. 

“That’s a double alert. That means it’s the front desk,” supplies Haru helpfully, hand resting on the seat of the couch vacated by Sousuke’s ass, almost as though he wishes he were still touching Sousuke somehow and has to instead satisfy himself with a warm divot in the cushion. 

“Yeah, I know that,” Sousuke lies. He completely forgets that the front desk has its own communication system for residents, which is why he is constantly answering calls he’d rather be avoiding from Makoto or Fumi. They like to chat while delivering whatever urgent message awaits him, usually a guest arrival in the lobby or a piece of mail that requires a signature. 

Haru stares at him, eyes switching between Sousuke’s face and the phone in his hand. Before Sousuke has time to react, Haru reaches out to snatch the phone away and answer it in his stead. “Hello? Mmm. Yes, I see. I don’t know what you’re talking about Makoto, I don’t know any Nanase-san. I’ll be right down.”

Unable to do anything but goggle at Haru, Sousuke finally manages to move off the couch completely, only tripping the smallest bit when he discovers his left leg fell asleep. “Am I supposed to go down there now?”

“Well,” begins Haru, with a wicked gleam in his eye, as he stretches across the expanse of the now-vacant half of the couch, grabbing at a furry ear, the only part of the koala he can reach. “It would be ridiculous for me to prance down there claiming to be you.”

A bullish snort escapes Sousuke as he raises an eyebrow. “You prance?” This guy seems more like someone who slinks and skulks and moves with the stealth and grace of a finely honed predator. 

“I could prance,” Haru assures him. 

Sousuke sighs with the weight of a thousand pounds burdening his distressingly Haru-less shoulders. “Just wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Like the infuriating creature he is, Haru promptly stands up and heads to the door. Sousuke grabs a hold of his sleeve and tugs him to a halt. Haru swivels his head and glares down at the offending paw on his elbow. 

“Where are you going?” Sousuke demands, reluctantly releasing his neighbor.

Haru huffs, turning back towards the entryway and tossing careless words over his shoulder as he goes. “Down to the lobby.” 

Shaking his head, he joins Haru in slipping on his shoes, and they make their way downstairs. Sousuke strides directly to the front desk, at which point the desk clerk’s eyes light up. “Good evening, Makoto.”

“Yamazaki-san, I’m sorry to disturb your evening but a package came for you that requires your attention.” Makoto reaches underneath the desk and pulls out a slim, brown, book sized envelope.

As soon as he assesses this latest package, Sousuke is annoyed that he thought the box containing the mermaid sculpture could possibly be the diary he has been waiting for. He never should have signed for that. In doing so, he could have avoided all the annoyance of the past day, and he wouldn’t be stuck with an odd hermit from the building. An odd, highly attractive hermit who has a wicked sense of humor and just enough poor taste in knick-knacks to be thoroughly captivating. Sousuke glances around him, but Haru is nowhere to be seen. 

“What the fuck,” murmurs Sousuke under his breath, as he peers around and scopes out every nook and cranny of the lobby. 

Makoto clears his throat. “I didn’t catch that, Yamazaki-san.” 

“Oh, uh, nothing," Sousuke stammers, turning back to the desk manager and hastily scrawling his name in the proper slot on the awaiting clipboard. He steps away from the desk and begins a low-key manhunt. He clutches the trim package in his hands as he searches inconspicuously for Haru, wondering when this evening parked itself at the corner of Infuriating and Bizarre. After exhausting all the hiding possibilities, and attempting to avoid Makoto’s all-knowing stare on him the entire time, Sousuke decides to retreat to the safety of his apartment. If Haru wants to find him, he knows where he lives. 

As Sousuke steps off the elevator and makes his way to 3C, he pulls up short when he sees the man himself sitting on the bright welcome mat in front of the door, Gou’s handiwork making itself useful yet again. “What are you doing?”

Haru peers up at him like that was the most ludicrous question he’s ever heard. “Waiting for you to get back. Whose package did you sign for this time?”

Sousuke growls in exasperation. “Mine! Now move.” He nudges Haru with his foot, not unkindly, but not gently either. He swings open his door and Haru steps in without so much as an invitation. Sousuke cocks his head, momentarily taken aback, then nods once to himself, surprisingly pleased with the level of comfort and familiarity after so short a time of being acquainted with one another. He walks in behind Haru and closes the door.

“So what did you get?” Haru is studying the package as though he will be able to see its contents through sheer willpower. 

Sousuke scoffs. “So nosy.”

“Not nosy,” counters Haru, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Fair. You got to see what was in mine, so I should get to see what’s in yours.”

“What is this, Kindergarten?” Sousuke chuckles until he notices that Haru is stone-faced, completely sincere in his remarks. “Okay, sure. I can tell you though, it’s not nearly as indicting as yours.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Haru trails after him as he moves to the living room, sitting back down on the couch. Sousuke follows suit then hands the package over to him.

“Here. You might as well, since you’re so curious.” 

Haru blinks down at it, hesitating only a moment before tearing off the perforated strip at the top. Sousuke hesitates many more moments before cautiously extending his arm towards the other man, lightly resting it across unexpectedly sturdy shoulders, light blue shirt stretched invitingly along his back as he works at opening the cardboard envelope. Haru’s muscles tense only slightly when Sousuke’s arm makes contact, then immediately relax and shift back. 

Sousuke is attempting to pinpoint exactly what rogue emotion is fluttering within him, when he feels Haru’s laugh before hearing the high-pitched snorting giggle he might be tempted to mock, if it wasn’t doing strange things to his gut instead. 

“What’s so funny?” Sousuke thinks he sounds normal, hopes Haru is laughing hard enough to ignore how strained his voice comes out, a little too short of breath for his liking. Haru is clearly dangerous to his respiratory health. 

Haru holds up a crimson diary, shiny gold lettering and floral impressions pressed into the textured leather. He runs a slender finger along the petals, tracing the grooves of each flower as he regains his composure. He huffs and turns to Sousuke. 

“How is this less embarrassing than Ariel?”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel: This chapter title seemed so perfect (and then inspired all the other chapter titles, lyrics from ["Crush" by Jennifer Paige](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIhSnaqou0I)) because it's a complete lie. Sousuke please. (♡´艸`)
> 
> Teresa: I think my favorite takeaway this chapter (an impossible choice) was discovering that for a dude who apparently indulges in Prancercize and light stalking on occasion, this Haru sure is judgy :D


	6. it's just some little thing (a vision of you and me)

* * *

 

Sousuke takes a suspiciously long time to answer, face frozen and eyes fixated on the diary in Haru’s hands like he’s working out a cover story. Part of Haru wants to take pity and tell him, hell, if Sousuke wants to compose epic love poems in his spare time, Haru’s the last person who will judge him. Whatever makes him happy. 

_Another_ part of Haru, a tiny, fledgling part he doesn’t recognize, stands ready and waiting - eager, even - for whatever Sousuke might serve back to him. 

“...Okay. First of all.” Sousuke’s voice brims thickly with confidence (and underneath, maybe, relief). “This may be my package, but it isn’t for me.”

Haru _hmms_ and Sousuke obligingly continues, tightening his arm around Haru’s shoulders to a point that’s approaching uncomfortable. Haru allows it.

“No, for the first time in this sorry saga something finally went right. It’s a gift. For my friend Rin. For his birthday. He loves sakura. Like, _really_ loves it. So.” He apparently runs out of sentence fragments and clears his throat. Haru toys with the little book in his hands, before laying it in Sousuke’s lap.

“It’s pretty. I didn’t know people still used diaries.”

Sousuke makes a show of tossing it onto the kotatsu but Haru doesn’t miss how careful he is to be sure it has a gentle landing. “Well, technically it’s a journal. I think to qualify as a diary, you have to have a tiny little lock and maybe a title like ‘My Secret Thoughts.’ Oh, and some hearts. Definitely hearts.”

Haru is compelled to snake a quick hand down to Sousuke’s bony knee and give it a hard squeeze, which gets the giant man gasping and jerking back from him. He peels Haru’s offending hand off, but then - like someone congenitally incapable of learning his lesson - he leaves their hands where they are, stalled out and entangled over his kneecap like they’re just casually keeping him warm. 

“...So,” Sousuke says again.

“Are you and Rin dating?” Haru asks. 

He looks up from their stacked hands to find Sousuke staring at him in some kind of… horrified disbelief, as if Haru had just politely asked him his stance on recreational cannibalism. His reaction is so disproportionate, in fact, that Haru wiggles his hand free and crosses his arms solemnly on his chest. He knew this whole meet-the-sexy-single-neighbor scenario was too convenient to be possible.

“Hey! At least let a guy answer!”

“You already did,” Haru argues. 

Sousuke scoffs. “What, you’re a mind-reader now too? Give me a break, Haru.”

Sousuke’s arm, which until this moment had been such a pleasant press around his shoulders, suddenly feels like a living straightjacket and Haru needs out. Somehow, he’s ducking to the side and down in just the right way and then he’s free, getting up and booking it to the front door.

Behind him comes a creak as Sousuke ejects himself in a hurry, the sharp clink of an unlucky bottle and a hissed curse. Haru doesn’t turn to find out how much beer was sacrificed to his exit. He has one foot in a shoe when the man finally catches up with him.

“Hey, Haru, wait.” Sousuke is even a little out of breath, like he just sprinted over. Haru pushes his other shoe on without bothering to pull the heel up.

“Where’s my box.”

“ _Haru._ Come on, I want you to stay, okay? Please?” But despite his words Sousuke makes no move to stop him from leaving, leaning crookedly against the wall next to the door and using his unfairly beautiful eyes to do all his convincing for him. Haru quits moving and just stands, too, sizing him up.

Sousuke lets out a gusty little laugh into the sudden silence. “Jesus. I fight more with you than my own sister. And _she_ used to sharpen her fingernails into points so she could inflict maximum damage.”

Haru stubbornly makes no comment. Sousuke probably deserved every clawmark.

“Rin’s my oldest friend,” he says, finally. Haru can’t mistake the fondness in his voice for anything but love. “We met in grade school. He probably knows me better than anyone. So, trust me: he’s the last person who would be interested in dating me.” 

Haru whips out a hand, palm up. “Can I see a photo?”

Sousuke blinks at him but - surprisingly - reaches behind himself to pull out his phone without protest. Maybe he’s already assessed the danger Haru poses to his privacy and personal property after his earlier phone stunt, and has decided it passes some mysterious test Haru can only guess at.

Haru lets him open the screen and pull up a photo of a (radiant) man, grinning goofily into the camera with his eyes screwed shut and proudly greeting the photographer with a pair of middle fingers. Before he can say a word, Haru has snatched his phone away. Through some mix of determination and luck, he finds the man in Sousuke’s contacts (filed under “RinRin”) and hits the phone icon. The call buzzes away. Curiously, Sousuke doesn’t even make a move to grab it back, instead just watching the scene play out with a look of morbid fascination on his face.

“...Sousuke? What’d you do, break all your texting fingers?” The man - Rin, one assumes - is laughing as he launches into their conversation. But Haru can immediately recognize worry there too. It’s the exact, carbon-copy tone that Makoto falls into, every time Haru deviates outside a particular zone of comfort and well-being. Just like that, he’s filled with understanding, spreading in a warm wave from where his fingers clutch the phone a little too tight.

He pushes the speaker button and holds the phone between them, in a symbolic gesture of peace. Sousuke somehow gets the hint. He clears his throat before starting, leaning his head in like they’re sharing the call in a wind tunnel.

“Rin. Hey. Uh… I’m really sorry it’s so late there.”

“Where’s there?” Haru demands, unsure whether he’s asking Sousuke or their unseen conversational companion and not particularly minding either way.

Rin doesn’t waste any time leaping in. “Um, Sousuke?”

A suspicious flush is beginning to creep down Sousuke’s neck. “Rin, I’m here with that neighbor I was telling you about. Haru, Rin lives in Sydney. Where it’s…” He pauses, staring at his phone’s display. “...where it’s almost 11PM. Sorry it’s so late, Haru and I were supposed to run an errand in Shinjuku tonight and time somehow got away from us.” He pins Haru with an icy look he’s sure Sousuke inflicts on misbehaving undergraduates.

Haru pounces. “Rin.”

“Haru! Um, nice to meet you. Good to have some eyes on the ground there to help me keep tabs on Sousuke.” 

“Are you two dating?” No point postponing the inevitable any longer. Sousuke actually covers his eyes, whether to be funny or in seriousness Haru can’t figure out.

There’s a sharp clunk on the other end of the line, followed by a random scuffle of sounds that can only be Rin dropping his phone and struggling to pick it up in a hurry.

“...poor Rin,” Sousuke mutters, with mildly increasing urgency. “Rin? Rin?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Rin storms back into the call. 

“Sousuke isn’t being honest with me,” Haru pushes on before Sousuke can take over and try to steer him off course. “It’s obvious you’re important to each other. I don’t wanna mess anything up just because we live in the same building and he’s, well.” He suddenly finds himself out of words.

“I’m, well?” Sousuke prompts. 

“...oh, Sousuke,” murmurs Rin in a totally different voice.

“I’m still trying to work that out,” Haru finally finishes, frowning. Sousuke snorts, but he’s smiling, an absent-minded smile like he doesn’t know he’s making it.

“Okay. Let me get this straight. Are you… asking for my blessing to date Sousuke?” Rin finally says, after another, shorter silence that none of them break this time. “God, this is _not_ the call I expected to get tonight.”

“Meet Haru.” Sousuke’s staring at him again. “I’m telling you, Rin, this is not the _night_ I expected to get tonight.”

That has Rin uncontrollably laughing for long enough that Haru loses patience. He stalks back to Sousuke’s diabolically comfy couch with Rin’s amusement buzzing in his palm. No matter how many times they try to escape, that couch is apparently their destiny. Haru feels a weird sense of peace as he settles in.

Sousuke respectfully gives him a little space, parking himself and crossing one leg over the other. Haru sets Rin on the cushion between them and lays his head against the back of the couch.

Despite his obnoxiously long show of amusement, Rin’s voice is perfectly earnest when he finally comes back on. “Haru, please take care of Sousuke. He works his ass off and he deserves the best.”

“...we almost done here?” Sousuke attempts, reaching for the phone.

“And Haru. Remember. If you even think of hurting Sousuke: _I know where you live…_ ” Rin says in a thick serial-killer voice. Sousuke thumbs disconnect before Rin can get graphic with his threats.

“Do you often hang up on your best friends?” Haru says, just to be obnoxious, and also because he’s feeling reckless.

“Only when shit has gotten utterly out of hand,” Sousuke replies. Then he tips into Haru’s personal space, and they’re kissing, and as Haru steals a hand under the hem of Sousuke’s t-shirt to feel his heat he wonders how this took them so long.

 

* * *

 

**_Omake_ **

 

A resounding knock late on a Sunday afternoon gets the tenant of 5F off the couch and striding to the door. A dyed-pink head pokes out into the hallway, swiveling back and forth to stare down the length of the hallway in both directions. Seeing no one, Kisumi picks up the large package and backs up into his apartment, definitely curious at the sizable box which has clearly seen better days. He doesn’t recall ordering anything recently.

Kisumi squints at the vague excuse for a label - that clearly says 8G - but finally just shrugs and putters off to get scissors. After all, even without a call from the desk, the package _did_ get dropped at his apartment. Slicing through the flimsy tape and rummaging through the bubble packing material, he stares incredulously down at the bright red hair of Ariel.

With a bright smile lighting up his perpetually pleasant face, Kisumi tugs his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. He presses the icon of one of his oldest friends, specifically, the only one who could have possibly thought to send him this. Whistling to himself as the call is connecting, he reverently removes the Little Mermaid from her wrapping, and places her in her long-awaited and rightful spot in his curio cabinet.

“Why is all of Tokyo calling me this weekend?” 

“Rin, I called to thank you! I just got the package and now you’ve made _me_ the girl who has everything!”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mel: FIN! If you know me at all, you know I adore one Matsuoka Rin (and his relationships with both Haru and Ssk), so perfect SH needs to have a healthy dose of our beloved and driven shark. I swooned when I first saw how Teresa tied him into this final chapter! Also, is it possible Haru and Ssk stayed up all night together painting Ariel? Anyway, if you've made it this far, please tell us what you think! We'd love to hear from you. (•‾⌣‾•)و ̑̑♡
> 
> Teresa: ...aaaand did you catch that - potentially - Kisumi may also be a resident of Sousuke and Haru's building? We will leave any future shenanigans up to your talented imaginations :). Thank you so much again for taking the time to read and ANY feedback is better than chocolate ♡


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